


Change of plans

by Notophthalmus



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dominance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notophthalmus/pseuds/Notophthalmus
Summary: Waking up in the dark with your hands zip-tied behind your back is never a good thing.  When you’re a spy it’s doubly bad.  Today, though, when the heavy footsteps that had woken me stopped nearby and a door swung open, I was actually hopeful.  I’d only spoken briefly so far with the man I’d come here to meet (he hadn’t given me a name, so I’d decided to call him Joe Smiley, for obvious reasons), so maybe now I would finally get some answers about why I had been burned and what this shadow organization wanted from me.What I saw, though, when Goon 1 and Goon 2 dragged me by the arms into a better lit room flushed any such hopes straight down the crapper.  Smiley was there alright, but with his right hand he was gripping my buddy Sam Axe by the hair. Sam was on his knees.





	1. Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This story contains rape/non-con.
> 
> Remember way back in Season One, at the end of the episode "Loose Ends" when Michael and Fiona have just rescued Sam from the drug-dealers who had kidnapped him, and Michael goes off to meet some mysterious person who claims to have information about his burn notice? This story is set right after that episode. I wrote it before I saw the premiere of Season Two, so it's kind of AU. Basically, Sam and Fiona decide Michael's in over his head, and go in after him, but the rescue attempt does not go quite as planned. 
> 
> This was the first and only fanfic I've ever shared with other people. I'm posting it here kind of as a way to jump-start myself back into sharing what I write.

Waking up in the dark with your hands zip-tied behind your back is never a good thing. When you’re a spy it’s doubly bad. Today, though, when the heavy footsteps that had woken me stopped nearby and a door swung open, I was actually hopeful. I’d only spoken briefly so far with the man I’d come here to meet (he hadn’t given me a name, so I’d decided to call him Joe Smiley, for obvious reasons), so maybe now I would finally get some answers about why I had been burned and what this shadow organization wanted from me. 

What I saw, though, when Goon 1 and Goon 2 dragged me by the arms into a better lit room flushed any such hopes straight down the crapper. Smiley was there alright, but with his right hand he was gripping my buddy Sam Axe by the hair. Sam was on his knees.

The part of my brain that comes up with clever escape plans kicked into overdrive. I was not looking forward to this conversation.

“Good morning, Michael,” said Smiley, his teeth sparkling at me. He let go of Sam’s hair and patted the ex-Seal on the cheek. Sam jerked away with that disgusted look he likes to pull on people. There were far too many fresh bruises on his face; beneath them I could still see the fading bruises from the cocaine-dealer fiasco just a few days ago. 

Damn it Sam, I thought. You should have known better than to try something before you were a hundred percent again.

“Look what I found, Michael,” said Joe Smiley. “We caught him last night trying to break in. I think he was looking for you.”

“I told you,” said Sam. “I got lost looking for the little boy’s room.”

“Shut up,” said Smiley, pleasantly, and kicked Sam in the gut. Sam folded over, groaning.

I made an amateur mistake. I jerked against the hands holding my arms, just once, but enough to make Joe’s predatory grin stretch even wider.

“Michael,” he said, walking over to put his face just inches from mine. “You have a very loyal friend here. A real treasure.” He leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Let’s see just how far that loyalty goes, hmm? I wonder what he would do to protect you.”

“This is insane,” I snarled. “I came here to talk. What do you people want from me?”

I hate feeling helpless. I’ve tried very hard since I left home at 17 to become the sort of person who was never helpless. But being gagged and bound and held by two very large goons while some bastard stood over one of the two friends who had stood by me through everything, who was still crumpled on the floor trying to get his breath back, made my stomach churn with the much hated feeling of helplessness.

Smiley grabbed Sam by the hair again and jerked him back to his knees. Sam squinted up at him. 

“Yeah?” he said.

“You understand the consequences of misbehaving, don’t you,” said Smiley, looking significantly in my direction. 

“I get it,” said Sam, flatly. 

“I’m only going to ask you one more question,” said Smiley. “You or him?”

“Me,” said Sam.

A strangled noise escaped me and I jerked against the goons.

No one in the room looked at me, especially not Sam.

“Good boy,” said Smiley, running a hand down the side of Sam’s face. Smiley unzipped his pants.

It wasn’t a pleasant thing to watch, but I didn’t look away. I owed Sam that much.

Partway through Smiley paused to catch my eye, fingers digging into the back of Sam’s neck. Sam’s chest was heaving with the effort of breathing around the thing shoved down his throat. Smiley winked at me. I lost it for a second, struggling futilely against the goons holding me back. Smiley went back to what he was doing. 

When it was over, they threw me on the floor in front of Sam and left, locking the door behind them. I struggled into a sitting position. It took more courage than I care to admit to look Sam in the face. In the now dim light I could see tracks all over his face of something wet that I didn’t even want to think about. He was trying to wipe it off on his shoulder. 

“Use my shirt,” I said.

He looked at me then. “Mike...”

I didn’t look away. He sighed and leaned forward to wipe the mess of onto my shirt. He paused, with his face pressed against my chest, and a shudder ran through him, then another. I realized suddenly that I was shaking too. 

“I’m so sorry Sam,” I whispered.

“Not your fault Mike,” he said, sitting back, seemingly once again competent, confident, shit-eating Sam Axe. “Heck, I’m the fool who got caught.”

“Trying to rescue me.”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “But you’d do the same for me.”

“Hell yes, brother,” I whispered, my voice failing me. 

“In fact,” he went on, “I seem to recall you pulling my ass out of the fire just a few days ago, if a little more successfully.”

“Actually,” called another familiar voice from somewhere in the ceiling. “I wouldn’t call this rescue attempt a total failure yet.”

“Did you get all the bugs?” asked Sam. 

“What do you take me for?” Fiona protested, as she dropped to the floor from the hole left by a displaced ceiling panel.

I gaped at them. “This... this was part of some plan?”

“Well, most of it,” said Sam, not meeting my eyes for a moment. “We couldn’t find out exactly where you were, but from what I’d heard about this guy, it seemed likely that if I got ‘caught’ he’d be the sort to bring me to you to use as leverage, and then Fiona could follow and get us both out.”

“Of course,” lilted Fiona, as she finished cutting me loose. “I didn’t expect to have to swim to keep up. For my next birthday, Michael, you are getting me a waterproof gun.”  
I got to my feet slowly, rubbing my wrists as the feeling came back to my fingers.

“But,” Fiona said, as she crouched behind Sam, “I get the feeling there were some things you heard about Mr. Bastard that you didn’t tell me, Sam. Some things that made you so insistent that you play Trojan horse instead of me. Hmmm Sam?” She waited patiently, one hand on her knife and one on his bound wrists. Sam squirmed. There’s a reason I let Fi do most of our interrogations—she’s damn good at it.

“Aw hell, Fiona,” said Sam. “I just... I...”  
“You’re a true gentleman Sam,” she said, kissed him on the cheek as he blushed furiously, and cut him loose.

“Mike,” he said, getting to his feet, “I know you wanna find out why you were burned, but I really don’t think you wanna deal with this guy.”

“You’re right,” I said, cutting off his argument. “Let’s get out of here.”


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/comfort
> 
> “I’ll take first watch,” Fiona said. “You two need to deal with this shit, and I’m crap at the touchy feely stuff, you know that. There’s another godawful shirt for Sam in the bag.” 
> 
> She was out the door before I could protest. Damnit. She was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains reference to rape/non-con from the previous chapter.

Sneaking out was ridiculously easy. A few hours and two stolen cars later, and we felt comfortable stopping at a shabby motel in Gator-fuck Nowhere, Florida. Fiona drove and Sam and I tried to look inconspicuous in the back seat. The ride got quiet real fast. We were counting on Smiley and the goons not having seen Fiona, so she was the one who booked the room, and once we were settled in she took orders for a run to the nearest 24-hour mini-mart for some form of food. 

“I’ll pass,” said Sam, uncharacteristically. “I’m not all that hungry.” 

Fiona gave him a look.

“I’ll get you some ice cream or something,” she said. Sam blushed furiously.

“Yeah. That’d be great, Fi,” he muttered without looking at her, and retreated into the bathroom. 

He was still in the shower when she came back 20 minutes later and tossed a hideous Nascar shirt at me before dumping the food on the tv table. I stripped off the one I’d been wearing and threw it in the trash.

“I’ll take first watch,” she said. “You two need to deal with this shit, and I’m crap at the touchy feely stuff, you know that. There’s another godawful shirt for Sam in the bag.” 

She was out the door before I could protest. Damnit. She was right. 

I went and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey Sam, Fiona got you a hideous tourist shirt,” I yelled. “I’m hanging it on the doorknob.”

“Yeah, ok,” Sam called back. 

The shower turned off a few minutes later, and Sam came out wearing a shirt that proclaimed that Elvis had not, in fact, left the building. I was halfway through the slice of congealing pizza Fiona had found at some gas station. Sam dug around in the bags of food, and sure enough there was a pint of Ben and Jerry’s just starting to melt.

“What’s with the ice cream?” I asked, for something to break the silence. 

Sam flinched like I’d hit him. “Uh, I don’t... don’t feel like chewing just now,” he said. 

Well, I’d screwed that up fast. I felt like a jerk for not thinking of it sooner, and the idea that Sam was in pain from what that bastard had done made me feel sick. 

Sam had set the pint down on the bedside table and was carefully not looking at it or me. I’d seen him hurt before, but this time he didn’t just look beaten, he looked humiliated. 

“Look, Sam...” I started.

“Uh, Mikey, do we really have to talk about this?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and trying for his usual light-hearted tone but failing miserably. 

“Yeah, we do,” I said. “We’ve got to talk about it because there’s only one thing I want more than to have my hands around that piece of shit’s neck, and that’s for you to look at me again like we’re friends.” 

“Aw shit, Mike...” he said, and sat down heavily on the other bed, but no more words came out. 

“Listen,” I said. “What I need you to understand is that I have only greater respect for you because of what happened today. You knew what kind of sick bastard I’d gotten involved with; you knew the risks. And knowing that, you still put yourself in his hands in order to come after me. That is one of the ballsiest moves I’ve ever seen. I’m not used to people doing stuff like that for me.”

I sat down on the bed next to him. This time I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“Taking other people’s beatings for them is my job,” I said.

“Aw shit, Mike,” he said, and I felt one of his big arms wrap around my shoulders. “Some days I wish your dad were still alive so I could kill him myself.”

I looked up. Sam’s face was a rainbow of bruises, but at least he was looking at me.

“Are we good?” I asked.

“Yeah buddy,” Sam said, letting out a sigh. “We’re good.”


End file.
